Page 155 of Beneath a Shattered Sky
The door promptly closes again. I wait for Cedwyn to release his brother, but he doesn’t. Instead, he busies himself remaking the throne and the chandelier and destroying all evidence that the ghost was ever there.
“Fine!” Cedwyn snaps. “You do it. Make a bargain with the Nicnevin, promise her whatever she wants from you in exchange for ridding me of this infernal spirit.”
“Have to be alive… to do that,” Ashton gasps.
The king doesn’t even turn, but suddenly the floor above Ashton is liquid. He gasps in a deep breath, the sound echoing as he rolls free of his prison.
Why didn’t he fight back? Has Cedwyn ordered him not to?
What am I thinking? Of course he did. They’ve been alive for centuries. The sheer number of commands chaining Ashton must be insane.
No wonder he’s unpredictable to the point of madness.
Lore grips my shoulder, pulling me back a second before Cedwyn would’ve caught me. He blinks us away, trading the cold throne room for the cosiness of our bedroom.
The others are still asleep, oblivious to the things we’ve been doing, but I only count three silhouettes beneath the furs.
Where’s Caed?
Lore stops me a second before I would’ve stepped on him.
My Fomorian is lying on the floor, splayed out with only a rug between him and the ice, and nothing on top save for the smallest fur across his legs. He’s shivering and shirtless, the lines of his curse stark against his skin.
Sadness blooms like a leaden flower in my chest.
“Can you find him a blanket?” I ask Lore quietly. “Or something?”
The redcap blinks away, returning seconds later with a thick quilt.
“Go to sleep,” I say, when he keeps hovering over me. “I’ve got to clean up, anyway.”
Lore kisses me, stealing my breath, before blinking again. A fourth lump appears in the middle of the bed, leaving me just enough space to crawl between them.
I don’t.
Perhaps it’s stupid, but something rebellious in me—probably inspired by Lore’s antics—is still at the forefront. I need all of them, and Caed is part of my Guard. Part of me is still terrified that he’ll turn on us, but the white hart’s words echo in the back of my mind as I wipe away the evidence of what Lore and I did.
I steal a shirt that smells faintly of Jaro’s leathery scent and, with a last, almost-guilty glance at the bed, curl up against Caed and spread the quilt over the two of us.
He stiffens, and I know I’ve woken him, so I cuddle against his side, silently making it clear that I’m not going anywhere. My fingers trace the lines of his curse mark, the faint light from the glowing ice just bright enough for me to make out the faint outline of a harp on the frame above his wrist, followed by the top hat above that. I skip over the depressingly blank frame that still waits for Drystan to throw a scrap of approval his way, and then trace the ear of the wolf’s head at the top.
Two of my Guard have accepted him completely, and Bree is inching closer. That has to count for something, right? If I can prove I’m safe sleeping next to him, perhaps Drystan will realise he’s being ridiculous.
My finger traces the knotwork until I reach the rose over his heart. It was dead when he was first cursed, but now the petals are mostly full, the bloom open, with just the hint of tattiness at the edges. And the chains that bind the swords around the flowerhave loosened. They’re still there, but they hang around the hilts of the top two blades almost decoratively.
“You shouldn’t be here with me,” Caed murmurs. “Go sleep with your mates.”
I stubbornly don’t answer him.
“You’ll only make it worse.” The resignation in his tone grates on me.
“Has something happened?” I ask. “I thought… after the Festival of Lights…”
I thought we were getting closer. I put the distance between us while we were travelling down to the fact that Drystan prefers I ride with him, but has something else happened?
“You’re wasting your time.” The non-answer tells me too much, and I grimace.
Someone has said something to him—probably Drystan—and Caed has responded by shutting down.
